


Like A Ghost

by NewEnglandBoi



Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, discord brainstorming turned into a fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-12
Updated: 2019-06-12
Packaged: 2020-05-02 08:00:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19194880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NewEnglandBoi/pseuds/NewEnglandBoi
Summary: The Outsider has seen the events that unfold in Dunwall happen many times over, seen the results and fates of that city play out before him.However, in one scenario, one possibility, his powers are not only granted to the Royal Protector, but also to someone else, to a poor serving girl. From the outside it seems as if nothing has changed...But behind the scenes, you couldn't be any more wrong.





	Like A Ghost

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all! So this fic idea came around from me and a few others on the Dishonored Discord Server brainstorming about what would happen if Cecelia were to be marked/be a main character. Everything from powers to character choices to potential targets. I hope you all enjoy!  
> (Credit to Black, TechTen, and NightFell on the Discord Server. Without you guys' help, this wouldn't exist.)

The sounds of a sweeping broom filled the air, as did the dust that it kicked up and scattered to a more desirable location. The light from the rising sun shone through the panes of painted and clear glass the building had, streaks of yellow stained the floor and walls, radiating through the thin glass veil and illuminating the small pub.

The broom continued its work, its brushes sliding across the tiled floor, dust being pushed in front of it towards the ever growing pile near one of the many exits the three story building held within. The broom was worn, a million scratches and nicks and dents lined the wooden pole, and the brushes were equally old, stiff and brutal in their work, though not the most efficient.

The hands holding said broom were equally rough, lined with callouses and healed cuts, scrapes, and wounds, long since faded, but still there. Beyond the hands holding the broom was a jacket, colored a light brown, covering up the arms connecting to the hands in their warm embrace. A blue buttoned up shirt covered up the skin where the jacket was left open.

The sound of boots plodding across the floor stopped by where one of the doors was. A soft noise of wood meeting stone echoed as the broom was set down, followed by the creak of the door opening, and the figure exiting the building and into the street outside.

From there the figure stopped and raised an arm to shield her green eyes from the bright light in the sky, waiting for her eyes to adjust so she could continue her work. The golden rays of the sun shone on her hat and her red hair. In a minute or so her visioned acclimated, and she began walking down the small street to the back of the pub.

Opening and closing the small gate that connects the front and back of the storefront behind her, the woman walks towards another figure, this one dressed in a normal maid outfit, also sweeping, this time the grounds just behind another exit. The redhead approached her brunette counterpart, trying to begin a conversation.

“I finished sweeping the bar Lydia…” She started, her voice meek and quiet.

“Thank you Cecilia, can you go make the beds? And, uh, tidy up the attic I guess? Havelock and the others say someone’s gonna be rooming there soon.” Lydia responded, only looking at the redhead for half a second, focused on sweeping the ground in front of her.

“Yes, I’ll see to it.” Cecilia said, opening the door and reentering the pub. Walking up the chipped and worn stairs, she thought about her situation.

Working at the infamous Hound Pits Pub beat the factory work she used to do, and especially beat working for the Boyle’s, considering that the latter went through staff like it was going out of style. And The Hound Pits was growing increasingly...odd, on account of the new residence having moved in a few months ago.

They called themselves ‘the Loyalists’, opposing Lord Regent Burrows’ rule and wanting Princess Emily back on the throne. They were a strange lot, a former admiral, the third brother of one of the most influential families, and an aspiring Overseer.

Not that Cecilia really cared much for their lofty goals and plans, it wouldn’t matter much if the plague came through and killed them all before the City Watch did. No, she was focused on surviving, trying to scrape by to see the sun rise the next day, trying to-

Cecilia noticed that she had arrived at the room already, and shook her head as she cleared her thoughts. She had a job to do, time to get it done.

There wasn’t much work to be done in the room itself. There was only one bed in the attic, and the room was already vacant, likely to stay that way for the foreseeable future. On account of the plague. And the City Watch. And everything else.

Making the bed was easy enough, only requiring her to move the pillow and set the blanket over the mattress. After that was a simple placing of books in places that weren’t the floor, and making sure the desk’s had chairs.

After that was the usual sweeping and inspection for rats, which wielded the usual results of done and nothing respectively. Sighing, Cecilia walked out of the room, closing the door behind her as she went to report the completion of her task to Lydia.

Once she reached the brunette, who was in the middle of smoking a cigarette, she reported her success. The older woman simply brushed this off. “Yeah yeah, now go make sure we’ve still got a decent supply of food and booze.”

This kind of routine happened every day. The same old boring work, always being ignored by those around her. If anything Cecilia became depressed by it.  
After one particularly nasty day, which ended with her being yelled at by both Wallace and Lydia, and having a rough blow to the head from a bottle she failed to dodge. Stumbling up the stairs with tears in her eyes and her throat hoarse from screaming, she threw herself into her bed, falling asleep instantly.

When she woke up, she found herself in a strange place. Grey skies stretched for miles on end, and the ground beneath her seemed to be floating. A whale, bloodied and with it’s ribcage showing, roared past her at breakneck speed, throwing her to the ground as the macabre creature let out a long bellowing groan of pain.

She would hear a growing cacophony of whispers and shifting gas as a black shadow materialized. Looking behind her, a young man appeared before her, about her age, give or take a few years, wearing a brown coat and pants…

...With pitch black eyes.

“Cecelia Bedelia, it seems fate has had a habit of dealing you one bad hand after another.” The black eyes being starts, before teleporting to her right, standing next to, and above, Cecilia.

“Born to parents who could barely afford the clothes off their backs, scorned by the world around you for your lack of material possessions, and treated like you were dirt by Dunwall’s finest.” He said this with a mischievous, even mocking tone, especially when saying ‘finest’. “The one bright spot in this world seemed to be your loving younger sister, full of life and love for those around her. But this life loves to tear down those who love, does it not?” 

“Who are you?” Cecilia called out, the individual disappearing in a cloud of black smoke, reappearing on her other shoulder.

“Does it matter who I am Cecelia? As far as you know, I’m something to be hated and despised. Your viewing of me would normally being enough for the Abbey to declare you a heretic, and you fear the Abbey, don’t you?” He said, his hands clasped behind his back.

Fear shot itself through Cecelia’s chest like a bullet. The Abbey...wanting to kill her? For seeing whoever this was in what was clearly a dream? Just who was this person?

“But I’m afraid it won’t matter, if you’d hear me out on a...proposition...I have for you.” The man leaned down and spread his arms, appearing ready to make a deal with her.

“It’s quite funny, usually the way this scenario plays out is that I wouldn’t visit you, and then you’d go on to be inconsequential, only making a few major decisions that don’t have an effect on the grand scheme of things.” Cecelia was confused by this. Scenario? Grand Scheme? Inconsequential? 

“But, because I always wanted to see how the changing of a few minor variables changes everything, I’m going to make you and offer.”

“What would you do to have control over your life again? To be the master of your own destiny? Who would you throw aside to the hounds for a chance to rise above your station?” His question was loaded with foreboding and vague descriptions, but at the same time the redhead was drawn to the idea of rising above her deplorable conditions, to becoming something more than a simple sweeper or maid.

“Wha-What’ll happen if I accept your gift?” She asked, still unsure about her decision.

“That is up to you to decide. Will you use it to aid your fellow man in their time of desperate need? Or will you drown them in a sea of blood? Either way, the results will be interesting to watch.” He says, a smile written across his face.

It was so much to take in, so much seemed to rest on this decision. It was almost as if a million other Cecelia’s had passed by - having not gotten this offer- into obscurity, into nothingness. 

“I...I...I accept…” She says solemnly. “But who are you?”

“My dear Cecelia…” He starts.

“I am the Outsider. And this, is my mark.”


End file.
